Fiona Wants Filling: Who Can Do It?

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hobrigef
hobrigef
248 Followers

Me and Fiona crack up. We sit there and just laugh at him for a while. "Oh my god, what a fucking klutz I'm married to," she giggles.

"Yeah, babe. What the fuck were you thinking?"

"Dunno. I just dunno," she says, shaking her head.

"You deserve so much better, you really do ... Doesn't she, Pauly?"

He does the nod/twitch again. Shit me, it's fucking hilarious, it really is. God knows how far we can take this if we want to - which I definitely do and from what happens next it's clear that Fiona is thinking the same.

"Paul, what's the time?" she asks him abruptly.

"Er, nearly six," he mumbles, checking his watch.

"Right," Fiona says, seeming to decide something and then smiling sweetly across at me. "So, honey, you got any plans for this evening?"

I'm meant to be meeting the guys for a few beers in town but a little bird tells me I'll be having a lot more fun with this than I would there. "Nah, not really."

"Ok, great, so how about you just hang out here?"

"Here?"

"Yeah, you know, stay in tonight."

"In my room, you mean?"

"Don't be silly, sweetheart, not up there on your own obviously! What I mean is why don't you spend the evening with us?"

"Really? ... You sure?"

"Very sure. We can have dinner, watch some TV ... maybe party a little ... you know what I mean?"

"What, the three of us?" I ask her.

"Well, yes ... although the two of us plus him would be a more accurate way of putting it."

"Ah, I see." (Which I do. Sounds like what she has in mind is something that I've often fantasized about happening: Fiona and me are gonna have ourselves a ball and as a bonus we get to persecute her sad sack of a husband while we're at it.)

"So you wanna do that, honey?"

"I like what I'm hearing," I tell her.

"That's a yes then, is it?"

"Yeah, baby, it is."

"Swell," Fiona says, grinning wickedly. "I know my husband won't mind. That's right, Paul, isn't it? You don't mind if Mark joins us for the evening?"

"Um, no, dear," Paul says.

"Not a good liar, Fiona, is he?" I joke.

"You think he's lying?"

"Yeah, definitely."

Fiona giggles and says she's sure he's not. She pronounces that to prove he's fine with it Paul should formally invite me.

So he does, believe it or not. He asks me if I'd like to join them downstairs for the evening. I make him look at me this time as he's saying it so I can savour the humiliation in his eyes. I'm not disappointed. He looks mortified. It gives me a massive buzz, this brutal subjugation of another guy, the sheer and utter domination, it gives me an even bigger hard-on than I had before.

I get up from my chair saying I'd like to shower and change first.

Fiona gets up too. "Sure, honey," she pouts. "And wear one of those tight tee-shirts, yeah? Wanna see those big strong muscles of yours."

"You got it, babe," I grin.

"I'll change into something nice too," Fiona says. "Something you'll like."

"Can't wait, baby. Can't wait."

Fiona reaches for her discarded towel and throws it at Paul who manages to semi-catch it. "Put this away," she says crisply.

"Of course, dear."

I can't help guffawing. "See you guys later then."

"Ok, honey," Fiona smiles, and she blows me a kiss as I stroll off upstairs.

An hour and a half later I come down and I'm still feeling exceedingly horny because I've been unusually disciplined up in my room - the shower, the change, and nothing else of note.

In particular I've left my cock alone.

I feel like jerking off when I get up there (christ only knows I do) but I want to save it all for Fiona, so I turn the water to cold and when I get out I think about stuff like how to vote in the next election and what car to get when I've finally saved enough dough to buy one. It isn't easy, unspeakably lurid thoughts and images of my lush landlady kept intruding, but I manage it.

And as requested I'm wearing a super-tight shirt with my jeans. Looking pretty damn good if I say so myself.

But not as good as Fiona who delivers well and truly on the "something nice" promise. I'm sitting on my own on the sofa, just starting to wonder where the host and hostess have got to, when she saunters in looking like a wet dream in a slinky red dress with spaghetti straps; it clings, falls snugly over her hips and ass to maybe six inches above the knee (christ, those legs again) and it's showing just the right amount of her glorious cleavage, more than a hint but teasingly short of over-spill. She's bare-legged and barefoot, toes freshly painted; the whole look is simple but sexy as hell. There's a delicate whiff of an expensive musky scent.

She stands in front of me and pouts and gives me a twirl. "What do you think?"

"What do I think? ... I think you look fucking incredible," I tell her.

"Why thank you kind sir!" she giggles.

Fiona remains standing there, hand on hip, knee flexed, pouting mischievously down at me, and suddenly it's all too much and I can resist no longer: I get up and I kiss her long and hard on the lips. She responds ardently, pushes her tongue into my mouth, slides her hands under the back of my shirt and moves them sensuously around. I drop my hands to her ass and I squeeze it hard, pull her tight into me so she can feel my erection pressing against her belly through the thin material of her dress.

"Oh god, Fiona, I want you so bad," I grunt into her ear, hand now exploring under her dress, finding to my delight that she's left the knickers off, feeling the luscious flesh of her buttocks.

I slip my finger into her asshole, wriggle it around, make her squeal, and then I pull the finger out and I slide it between her legs, tease her cunt, feel the wetness there. The horny bitch is dripping.

She's not the only one: I'm leaking myself, getting close to the point of no return. I've never wanted a woman so much and I'm seeing no good earthly reason why I don't fling her to the carpet and take her there and then.

I don't do that, however, because suddenly Fiona breaks away, panting and flushed and smoothing her dress down. WTF ... it's not quite 'coitus interruptus' but it's pretty damn close!

She's grinning at something over my shoulder; I turn around to see what it is. Paul has ghosted in and he's standing there wearing an apron and a forlorn expression. "Sorry, but dinner's about ready," he mutters.

"Timing," I grunt. I'm slightly annoyed at having to put the action with the wife on hold but this is comfortably outweighed by my amusement at the sorry state of the husband. The guy looks fucking ridiculous. When I say he's wearing an apron I mean he's wearing JUST an apron - least that's what it looks like.

"Ok, we'll be there in a second," Fiona snaps, before turning back to me. "Steak and salad ok with you, sugar?"

"Sounds good!"

"Go lay the table, why don't you," Fiona instructs Paul. Her tone is harsh, cold, and he immediately turns tail and shuffles off out of the room.

I watch him go and, yes, it's just the apron. Incredible. She really has stripped him of all dignity.

"Oh shit, just look at the stupid cunt," I snigger, when I've managed to stop cackling. "You are such a sadist, baby, aren't you?"

Fiona flashes an enigmatic smile. "I know," she murmurs.

We eat in the kitchen; or rather me and Fiona do, the cook doesn't get to join us because he's also the waiter, dishing up the food (which is well prepared) and pouring the wine and generally making himself useful while his wife and I relax and occupy ourselves with eating and drinking and flirting like crazy with each other.

Once he's arranged everything to her satisfaction Fiona pretty much ignores her husband, seems so utterly bored with his presence that she acts as if he's not there, but me I can't resist tormenting him, the situation is simply too delicious for words, it's like I'm king of the castle.

Throughout the meal, Paul hovers subserviently around the table, speaking only if spoken to, doing our bidding, and I order him around like a servant (which is what it would seem he is, let's face it) ... Pour me some more wine, Pauly ... Pour Fiona some too ... Hey, dickhead, come and cut this steak up for me ... Oi, Pauly boy, more salad, yeah? ... So, Paul, you know me and your sexy wife here have the hots for each other, don't you? ... You know I'm gonna make love to her tonight, right? ... etc etc ... I really go to town, behave like a cruel bastard, while Fiona just laughs and eggs me on with it, the mean bitch clearly enjoying seeing her husband crushed and humiliated at the hands of her hunky young (about to be) lover.

When I say "at the hands of" I'm speaking the literal truth because at one point when his table-waiting duties bring him within close range I snarl that I'm not completely satisfied with how he's performing ("Oh," he says, crestfallen) and I order him to stand still so I can administer a suitable punishment. "Don't mind if I slap your husband's ass, babe, do you?" I ask Fiona.

"Be my guest."

"Hard?"

"Hard as you like, sweetie."

So using my open palm and without even having to leave my seat I dish him out a good slapping. He manages not to cry out but his eyes are watering and his little buttocks are stinging red by the end of it. Each slap makes a loudly satisfying whacking sound and I get well into it, my enthusiasm for the task fuelled by the amused pleasure of the watching Fiona. The whole performance makes her giggle so much that she has to stop eating for the duration. It's the highlight of dinner for sure.

Afterwards we leave him to clear up and wash the dishes while we retire to the lounge. Fiona flicks the TV on and we settle down together on the sofa. We're a couple.

She snuggles into me for a smooch and when Paul comes into the room having sorted out the kitchen he finds us quite involved; we've progressed from just canoodling and we're starting to make out; Fiona has her hand in my lap gently massaging my erection through my pants and I have mine up her dress; I'm stroking her thighs, up near her pussy, and at the same time I'm kissing and nibbling away at her ears ... her neck ... her shoulder.

There's a lot of grunting and squealing going on and Fiona gets even more noisy, I notice, as soon as hubby appears. Yeah, no question that the evil cow is totally getting off on doing this in front of him.

As Paul stands there, mute and sad-looking, I pull down the flimsy straps of Fiona's dress and I fondle her spectacular tits. "Your missus sure feels good," I grunt, taunting him, enjoying his helpless misery.

Fiona moans with pleasure as I play with her breasts and then (oh yeah, bring it on) she suggests going upstairs to bed. She wants my "lovely big dick" inside her, she says. There's an emphasis on the BIG and she's looking gleefully at her unfortunate husband as she makes this announcement. Christ, talk about degrading a guy, talk about rubbing his nose in it.

"And a big hard dick is exactly what you're gonna get, babe," I say, wolfish grin on my face.

The dick in question is starting to complain now. It's had enough of being imprisoned inside boxers and thick denim. It wants out.

It wants flesh on flesh; it wants the soft hand of this sexy bitch Fiona closing around its meaty shaft; wants to feel delicate feminine fingers stroking and squeezing and tickling; wants to be tantalised and teased to high heaven and then to plunge itself into a warm sloppy cunt and pound and pump away at a glittering pussy-hole until it explodes and the bitch screams the house down.

Fiona giggles and adjusts her dress, covering some thigh and putting her tits away. "That's alright with you, Pauly, is it? ... For me to get properly fucked for a change?" she prods, mercilessly.

It's not really a question, of course, but he nods anyway. Poor bastard looks demolished.

This is one heartless creature I'm hooked up with here, I fully realize that, but somehow her appalling cruelty to her husband only makes her even more desirable.

It's not yet ten o'clock and the rest of the evening, and the night, is a glittering prospect; there's a contest being fought out in my head between all the exquisite and delicious ways that me and Fiona are gonna ravish each other and the various wicked little games the two of us might play to amuse ourselves with poor old Pauly.

(So let me see now ... She strips off in the bedroom, me and hubby watching and salivating, then she decrees a 'cock measuring contest' between us two guys maybe? ... Our lucky winner gets to lie back on the duvet and enjoy a long leisurely succulent blowjob from the succulent mouth of the lovely Fiona while the miserable, cruelly frustrated, small-dicked loser gets to grovel on his knees at the foot of the bed and lick a pair of large sweaty male feet? ... Yeah, definitely, and a whole lot more where that came from.)

"Let's make him watch, baby, should we?" I say, winking at Fiona; the thought of possessing this horny piece of ass right before the eyes of her debased and demeaned husband is turning me on no end.

As I suspected, the 'piece of ass' herself is all for it. "Yes, let's," she laughs.

We disentangle ourselves and rise from the sofa and walk off hand-in-hand towards the stairs, Fiona waggling a "follow" finger at Paul, him trotting along obediently behind.

Halfway up the stairs I turn around sharply to check on Paul: I want to relish the mental anguish - the terrible humiliation - that he must be feeling.

He's caught unawares, as I intended, and so I get the truth; but the truth is something oddly different, because what I see, just there in the split second before he realizes that I'm looking at him and he makes the necessary hasty facial adjustment, is about the biggest shit-eating grin I've witnessed in all my life.

He's lost the apron, the guy is completely naked now, and I find my gaze falling to his groin, more specifically to his cock, which I notice is jutting up and bobbing around and looking as hard as fuck. Wow.

There's something else I notice about it too - something which is worrying in the extreme.

It's considerably bigger than mine.

hobrigef
hobrigef
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26thNC26thNCabout 3 years ago
Luckily

There was no part two, this was on the far side of really stupid.

AnonymousAnonymousabout 3 years ago
Part 2

Will we ever see another chapter?

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